STAR TREK TOS
“Enterprise. Mutual Warp until intercept.”
Captain Kirk shifted his weight. They were enroute to facilitate the preparatory use of a wormhole by several galaxy class vessels including a false flag, conditions of terms, and, of course. Prime directives.
Kirk, sitting down. Another starfleet drank coffee, Navy style. Black, with sea salt.
“Captain,” a loaded Vulcan, “this written message is addressed to your office.”
Interesting. It was addressed proper to his office, Starfleet.
“Dear Captain Kirk, I am a Vulcan. I am near of my Pon Farr. I find you the superior male.”
Kirk leapt. “Hot, hot.
“James T. Kirk will be yeilding the earth, early today.”
Engineering, create another.
Then, Kirk, danced in place, shoulders alternating up and down, a 360 degree turn thrown in for measure, each move capped by several bouts of thrusting, preventing his testicles from spiraling into a helix, which was nearing severe pain. After which he took his chair.
Then: “Full stop.”
The bridge of the Enterprise, falling from level, lifted their feet in a sharp angle. Hurtling gli.
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